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Writer's pictureSu Guillory

Language is a Tricky Thing

Two years ago, when I met Gibi in Saorge, I thought I understood him to say he had a son of 18 months. That was a little surprising, given that he’s probably in his 50s.


All this time, I’ve thought this.




Yesterday on the mountain, I asked how old his son was now.


“33.”


“No, I mean your other son.”


“I have only one son.”


“But didn’t you tell me you had a little son?”


“Oh yes! My little son. He’s 4.”


Ummmm…


Then my faux pas hits me. In French, Petit fils means grandson, even though a direct translation would be “little son.”


Ohhhhhhh.


Boy, we had a good chuckle over that one!

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